


Hymn for the Fifth Suit

by Ace_Valentin_21



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Circus, Alternate Universe - Homelessness, Alternate Universe - Magicians, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Homeless Steve Rogers, M/M, Magician Tony Stark, Maybe - Freeform, SHIELD and HYDRA are still things, Sleight of Hand, Slow Burn, Smoking, Somewhat influenced by Victorian/Edwardian theatre aesthetics, Steve Rogers is Not Captain America, Steve still hasn’t the serum, Tag As I Go, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark is not Iron Man, because I’m gay and that’s that’s on that, but only for aesthetic, card tricks, i have a plan I swear
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-06 09:56:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16385765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ace_Valentin_21/pseuds/Ace_Valentin_21
Summary: Steve had seen many impossible things - in fact, he would be considered by many to be an impossible thing himself - but the mysterious man known only as Ferium leaves him completely at a loss. Drawn into a world of intrigue, wonder and ingenious sleight-of-hand, Steve uncovers much darker forces at work... and the man who takes them on with a deck of cards teaches him a thing or two about real magic.





	Hymn for the Fifth Suit

Steve sighed, letting the smoke slip from between his lips.

It gave him a kick, to inhale the vapours and feel the drug disappear moments later, metabolised before it even reached his brain. The smoke burned his throat and lungs, but only for a moment. The lit cigarette glowed cheerily in the morning haze.

The kick didn’t come from the nicotine.

He could still remember the first time he went to the hospital - at four months old, pneumonia almost took his life - and the last, all those scans and tests and god-knows-what data when they found him in the ice. It was... liberating, he supposed. No longer having to watch his every step because, if he fell over, it would be damn hard to get back up.

He took another drag, leaning back against the rough brick of the building behind him. Living on the kerb could get pretty lonely, but he didn’t really mind.

The smoke was lost in the fog of the city. Everything was blurry and faded from where he was sitting and it made him drowzy, so he figured it would be easier just to shut his eyes. He felt like he was the only person in the world in the last lifeless corner of New York.

It took him a moment to realise that the cigarette wasn’t in his mouth anymore.

His eyes snapped open, not daring to move another muscle. Maybe he was paranoid, but he had every right to be after all he’d been through.

There wasn’t a soul in sight. 

Steve let himself relax. He’d probably just dropped it without noticing, he reasoned. He leaned forward to look around, feeling on the ground with his hands, but he couldn’t see it anywhere. He couldn’t help but huff indignantly. That had been his last one, and he wasn’t exactly a fountain of wealth.

“Want one?”

Steve spun on his heel and through a haymaker at the source of the voice coming from behind him, only to watch the stranger dodge deftly out of the way. He stopped himself moments before his fist collide with the wall. 

The stranger laughed. “Funny, you don’t come off as the tetchy type. I prefer to keep my head on my shoulders, so keeping your hands to yourself would be much appreciated, buddy,” he said, almost conspiratorially. The man was clad in a black and red ensemble and a mischievous grin, gloved hand outstretched, offering him a cigarette. The other was hidden behind his back, and Steve was sure he was holding something out of his view. The stranger noticed the direction of his gaze, and smirked, languidly raising his arm to examine the dead cigarette in his hand - but how had he got it off him? 

Steve bristled, spine straightening as he assessed the man in front of him. “Maybe don’t sneak up on me next time,” he said, accepting the little paper tube from the stranger. He fumbled in his pocket for a lighter.

“Hey, let me.” The other man snatched the cigarette from Steve’s hands before he could protest. “Watch this.”

The cigarette lay in the man’s open palm. Steve was intrigued, he couldn’t deny it. Something about the way this peculiar stranger moved, the flair and poise in how he held himself, the quick yet fluid motions of his hands, seemed to be magnetic, drawing Steve’s attention to him - but Steve had absolutely no doubt that he never would have seen the other man if he hadn’t wanted to be seen.

Suddenly, the cigarette was in the air, tossed up by nimble hands, until the man caught it between two fingers, clothed in white fabric. The end had jus flared to life and the jovial flickering filled Steve with confusion. How had he done it? He had barely touched the damn thing before it lit up, and Steve couldn’t see a lighter. 

The other man cleared his throat, cocking his head and raising a quizzical eyebrow. Steve realised he was holding it out, much like he had been before, waiting for him to take it. He quickly grabbed it and brought it to his lips, eyes sliding shut as he took a deep, satisfying breath. He couldn’t get addicted - the drug didn;t affect him enough for that - but it was something of a comfort. 

“Thank you-“ Steve started as he brought the cigarette away from his face, the smoke curling up into his eyes, but there was nobody there. Faintly, he heard laughter somewhere above him. He stared dumbfounded at the pavement where the mysterious stranger had been standing moments before. 

“Didn’t even catch his name,” he murmured to himself, completely and utterly confused.

He shook himself, clearing his frazzled brain, and lifted the cigarette back to his mouth -

Something hit him on the back of his head. 

Steve turned just in time to see the pack of Marlboros fall to the ground, skittering along the sidewalk before coming to a stop. If he thought he was confused before, he’s entirely lost now. It took a few quick strides to reach the little box. He bent down to pick it up, and immediately noticed the slip of paper tied to the box with an elegant red ribbon. He tossed the box to his other hand, and turned over the paper. On it, there was only one word, written in tall, narrow script:

Ferium.

What was that supposed to mean? It had to be a name; perhaps the other man was still hanging around, and had heard him talking to himself.  
He looked up to the roof of the apartment building next to him, wondering what in all hell had just happened.


End file.
